


Routine

by naaz



Category: Naruto
Genre: Drabble Collection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-22 01:25:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10686918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naaz/pseuds/naaz
Summary: Day in, day out.





	1. Chapter 1

It's the same routine each morning day in, day out.

The variations are small and imprecise. They get lost in the fray.

He wakes. His chest constricts. There are a few half-easy breaths. Soft and even before the vice clamps down and he remembers that he's ill.

These are the good mornings, and those unlaboured breaths make it easier to act as though nothing is wrong though the rest hits soon. Tension in his muscles, pain that creeps down his limbs and settles in his joints and he wonders what age he'd start to look like the bent, old people they see as they pass through markets ------ but that won't come, his death is due soon.

Fingers stretch out. Press below him. The ground is damp, the bed is soft, the cot's just this side of uncomfortable, or the inn reminds him too much of home and the idea of sleep was a joke because he can barely close his eyes for fear of ghosts that linger just out of view.

If he's slept, then it's a good day as well. Normally sleep doesn't find him. He keeps his eyes closed long enough that Kisame can pretend he believes Itachi's act. Without the act there's an uneasy air that lingers, the thought, the feeling that they they should be moving. doing something. They're both former ANBU and the conditioning is the same, Konoha or Kiri, always push forward. Never be the first to stop. Go go go. It's exhausting.

Even if he wasn't ill he would always be the first to ask for a breath, the first to suggest they tuck in from a day's travel.

Luck, is exhaustion catching up to him. Leaving him out cold. A few hours, maybe less. Willing sleep is less common still and dreams come in waves, washing over him, leaving a sea salt slick across his skin.

Morning showers are a luxury that he grows used to. He misses them when they’re in between towns. The inns are normally his choice and draw curious comments from his partner because they speak to the way Itachi grew up. First son. Beloved son. Wealthy by all standards but his own before the world tempered him to understand poverty and how lucky he had been.

Kisame didn’t have those sorts of things he took for granted growing up in revolution and blood.

No day trips to expensive onsens or smiling women to serve tea and make small talk and play music while Itachi sits, straight backed to the wall like he’s lost somewhere and can’t be found.

Even when they aren’t fancy they meet requirements that Kisame doesn’t keep to. Warm water, tea, food in walking distance.

The sicker Itachi gets the shorter walking distance becomes and that’s another part of the routine.

Kisame holding his elbow and Itachi’s face pressed to his sleeve as he’s all but dragged to eat. Because medicine can sustain him but not the same way food can. It’s a cycle of good days and bad days. Days when he can handle it and he eats too many sweets and ends up solemnly wrapped in his too-large cloak fighting off a stomach ache and the days when Kisame struggles to get water alone over parched lips.

And from where ever they’ve eaten or not, they gather up their few, meager belongings and they’re on the road again. Every afternoon, without fail. Day in, day out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally posted to my [roleplay blog](http://simpletool.tumblr.com/post/159812470698/its-the-same-routine-each-morning-day-in-day) on tumblr as a headcanon.


	2. Chapter 2

Some missions the facade is easier to maintain than others. Itachi has no trouble with political assassination, intrigue, or anything that can be done with almost nonviolence. Not that violence bothers him either, for as much as Kisame is the muscle to his tactical mind he still finds himself at ease as blood rolls aslong his lips, as the dim blue-green glow of his hands mends together broken his noses and torn capillaries. He can’t go deep, but he keeps them together.

Whole sale slaughter isn’t his cup though. He isn’t built for it, doesn’t suit the missions but Kisame is an expert at blood sport and they’re assigned them regardless.

It’d been long and bloody. They’re both worse for the wear. They can kill hundreds in an hour but it’s still messy business. He’d still felt the stone settle in his stomach when the wind picked up and carried along the smell of burnt and broken bodies. He’s been near silent ever since, still wrapped in the warm shroud of his mourning as his body moves without him.

Itachi works on Kisame’s shoulder, fingers hold apart flesh as he pours rough alcohol from a scavenged home into his partner’s wound before he dreams of closing it. He doesn’t let expression show, and he certainly doesn’t outright tell, Kisame how lucky he is that the muscle wasn’t severed. That’s the sort of thing Itachi can’t heal. but Kisame knows, Itachi is sure that he knows. He’s never met someone so aware of his abilities and weaknesses that didn’t also bear the name Uchiha.

“Itachi-kun,” Kisame says, and Itachi glances without turning his head towards his partner’s sharp smile. All teeth but not as intimidating as it had once been. Now he knows those teeth have other uses. 

“Yes?”

“This sadness, it’s out of character.”

Itachi’s schooled himself not to react to things like that long ago. It’s an almost common statement in their partnership. Itachi will look too melancholy, react to something before he has the time to process what his reaction will be and without fail… Kisame picks up on it.

“Oh,” he mumbles as his eyes slide back to his work. It’s knocked him out of his mourning. Brought him back to the present. part of him wants to ask what his character is, that Kisame should be able to pick it apart to easy, but that invites the kind of honesty that he doesn’t want.

  


* * *

  


Healing takes too much out of him. It’s why he doesn’t do it very often. Itachi’s chakra reserves are impressive but it’s his stamina that’s lacking and after a day of fighting he’s completely drained, near enough to collapse that they begin another small ritual.

Itachi doesn’t know when this part started.

Him, sitting half naked with the scars that cross his pale body on full display. He only looks pretty when he’s covered. Burns and scars, pock marks in the curve of his hips, they all speak to his history.

Kisame’s hand presses to the flat of his back and he pushes chakra into Itachi’s body. it’s slow going. They have different primary chakra natures and Itachi’s gates are badly damaged by illness. Kisame has to be careful. Too much chakra at once and he could easily kill his younger partner. But the ritual of it is calming and the second hand that sometimes holds the back of his neck, pressing his head forward, anchors him to the moment. Fingertips dug into his baby hairs.

Itachi’s mind wanders. He’s been more undressed than this with Kisame. When he’d started pushing his own agenda in their relationship. Pressed affection onto him that hadn’t been unwanted, just unexpected.

Kisame’s lips against skin as Itachi straddled him and the uneven breath it’d drawn from his smaller partner. It was… good, it was new, it was the first time that Kisame had seen Itachi fall apart and beg for more with lips parted like he was pleading for forgiveness.

And come morning, when he’d been tangled in Kisame’s arms and he’d felt the heft of solid muscle in the arm around his waist he’d blinked open to the sight that Kisame was already awake. He’d waited for him. It’d forced something strong, confusing into his chest and when his brows pressed together Kisame had offered a sharky smile.

“ _You look surprised, Itachi-kun. How out of character._ ”

When had that become their code for Itachi was too close to showing some part of himself that Kisame couldn’t pretend not to see. He misses before it. When he’d thought Kisame as dull and daft as everyone else he’d stumbled upon, been partnered with. None of them had seen the colors that Itachi was dyed so clearly as Kisame could.

He supposes its a compliment to the Kirigakure intelligence community as a whole.

Now, in the present, Itachi’s head tilts, glancing back at Kisame and breathing out hard.

“Kisame.”

“Yes?” Kisame glances up, brows lifted. Itachi always addresses him more casually than Kisame does in turn.

“That’s enough for today.”

“Nn, you’re probably right,” Kisame concedes.

He’s an absolute professional as his hand lifts from Itachi’s back. Itachi mourns it. He wishes they were allowed weaker resolve because he can imagine Kisame’s fingers playing down his spine and coming to rest on the pivot of his still clothed-hip. before he has the time to stop himself Itachi says, “touch me,” and leaves the rest to fate.

The hand comes back. The hands come back. Knuckles against his ribs, faint outlines amid his light muscles. It’s soft, distracting, and Itachi takes matters into his own hands. He goes to his knees and settles himself above, straddling Kisame’s crossed legs. He presses his face forward and into the curve of Kisame’s neck.

“What do you want, Itachi-kun?” Kisame asks. He’s the best thing that Itachi has right now and doesn’t deserve. Itachi would’ve let him get away with anything. He wouldn’t have been surprised to find the other man was a harsh lover, or not particularly kind, but he moves with such a deliberateness that it’s obvious Itachi’s pleasure matters to him.

Fingers against his collar bone, thumbs that visit the dip between them, hands that slide down and over his sides and fan at his waist. Their size difference pulled into sharp relief. Kisame’s body can fold around his if they’re in the right position, hold him at the same time that he drives all thought of Itachi’s mind.

Itachi makes a noise in his throat and responds with a kiss instead. Dry lips against dry lips it remains chaste for only as long as it takes Kisame to to realize what’s happening and part his. Kisame’s hands break symmetry and one comes to hold the back of his neck. When their lips part Kisame’s mouth travels immediately to his neck, working at spots he seems to have memorized in their time together.

“I just want you,” Itachi says, once words have been found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted [here](http://simpletool.tumblr.com/post/160432657018/i-want-the-k-u-little-shit) for my dear friend [samcbito](http://samcbito.tumblr.com/).


End file.
